Pretty little things

“A girl like you”

In the first few weeks of college, I was spending a lot of time with a boy that I met in zero week. He was about twice my height and ten times as sweet as any of the boys that I had met in the summer before. He treated me well — sent me morning and evening greetings and walked me back to the dorms almost every day of the first week. It was pretty obvious to me that he wanted something from me. I assumed it was the same “something” that most boys wanted.

Not in the Broken Glasses

Throughout high school, I had hated me. I hated my height, my bums, my thighs, my calves, my feet, my arms, my stomach, my neck, my shoulders, my voice and just about anything that I could see, touch, or hear that was my own. Beyond that, I also hated the things that were inside of me and the traces I left behind — I hated my mind, hated the way that I obsessed over my grades, hated that I couldn’t keep my friends, hated every mistake I made — in playing piano, in singing in choir, in spending time with my friends, on the tests, quizzes, and essays. Then in the summer after high school, I hated the decisions I made, the things that I wanted to do, the things I wanted to explore. I believed that these things made me impure and took away my innocence. I have convinced myself that I was not worthy of being truly loved by anyone. And no one has ever really convinced me otherwise.

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“Boy in wanders.” In dedication to one of my best friends. — 9/8/2018
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On our way back to LA from SJ, California. — 8/16/2018

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